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Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Yesterday was the first day I managed 1000 words in weeks. It's too bad the words weren't on A Gift of Time! But they're sort of fun, so here they are:

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“It’s so bizarre,” Akira said thoughtfully, staring up at
the motionless ceiling fan.

“Is the baby moving?” Zane asked, sliding a hand along the
slight curve of her belly. He hadn’t been able to feel a kick yet, but that
didn’t stop him from trying.

“No, not that.” Akira tilted her head sideways, letting it come
to rest against his shoulder. She sighed, feeling content with her position
although mildly exasperated by her body’s demands.

“Bizarre,” Zane repeated. “Would that be the miracle of life
growing inside you?”

“A natural process that women have been managing for
thousands of years.” Her voice was dry. Of course, it was a little strange that
she’d met her baby’s previous incarnation—she imagined that not too many women
throughout history could claim the same. But no, that wasn’t what she’d been
thinking about.

“What then?” Zane stroked up, long fingers reaching the
underside of her breast and lightly tracing a pattern along her skin.

“How much I want red meat.” Not just red meat. Steak.
Gorgeous steak. Red in the middle, seared dark on the outside. Mmm, with salt.
Luscious salt, bursting with flavor on her tongue. Or maybe a hamburger, juicy
and rich, dripping with . . . ick. Fat and blood. That’s what hamburgers
dripped with. But even knowing that didn’t change the way her mouth watered at
the thought.

Zane chuckled.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Akira protested.

“Sure it does. The baby needs some protein.”

“I ate a pound of edamame last night. A whole pound. That’s
about five times the amount of protein the average person needs.”

Zane’s hand stilled. “I read something . . .” He pulled
away, Akira’s head dropping to the pillow as he got out of the bed and crossed
to the dresser on the other side of the room.

“Hey!” She complained. She’d been comfortable. And his
clever hands had been starting to stir up something a little more interesting
than hunger for steak.

He looked back over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Coming
right back,” he promised. He grabbed his smartphone and started tapping.“Soy,” he reported, “contains phytic acid.”

Akira raised her eyebrows. “And?” She’d never even heard of
phytic acid. Why had Zane?

“It blocks the absorption of minerals.” He joined her on the
bed, lying down and putting a proprietary arm across her.

“Minerals such as . . .”

“Calcium, magnesium, and iron,” he said cheerfully. “Also
zinc and mercury, if they matter.”

“Let me see that.” Akira held out a hand for his phone and
he passed it to her, a small smile playing around his lips.

She read the information on the website he’d found,
scowling. “Damn it. All right, maybe I’m craving meat because I need iron.
Fine, I’ll eat broccoli.” She couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought.
Broccoli. She loved broccoli. But not for the past few months. Just the thought
of it brought a nasty taste into her mouth.

Akira groaned. What was a semi-vegetarian doing getting
involved with a confirmed meat-and-potatoes man? Worse, having his baby?

Zane grinned. “How about I pick up a couple filets? Fire up
the grill? We can have steak and baked potatoes for dinner tonight.”

“Steak and salad,” she answered grumpily.

“Baked potatoes. With butter. Maybe some sour cream.”

Akira closed her eyes. Why did that sound so good? What was
Henry doing to her? Having her body taken over by a creature with his
own tastes and desires was not what she had expected from pregnancy. Was it
like this for every new mother?

“Knock, knock!” The cheery voice from the other side of the
bedroom door stopped Akira’s response to Zane before she could make it. It was
almost with relief that she called out, “What is it, Rose?”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay. She acts real mean, but she wasn’t
like that when I knew her.”

“When you knew her? When she was alive, you mean?” Akira
didn’t bother to look toward the ghost seated in the passenger seat next to
her. Florida drivers were insane. She needed to keep her eyes on the road.

“Uh-huh,” Rose responded eagerly. “She was a few years
younger than me in school, so I didn’t know her well, but she was nice enough.”

“Nice enough. Huh.” Akira thought back to the mean old woman
ghost she’d met briefly on her first day in Tassamara. Meredith, her realtor,
had been showing Akira houses supposedly available to rent. Akira hadn’t even
been willing to go into the little lakefront cottage. The angry ghost grumbling
on the porch had made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. “Is that what they call
damning with faint praise?”

“No, really,” Rose answered. “I’ve visited her a few times
recently. As long as you’re not planning on moving into her house, she’ll be
perfectly friendly.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” This time Akira dared a
glance at her passenger. To Akira, the ghost looked almost like a typical
teenage girl—only her full skirt and blonde curls showing that she was out of
her own time—but Akira knew she was more than that. And more than simply a
ghost, too.

“Yes.” A little frown between her eyes revealed Rose’s
worry. “She’s determined to get rid of the new tenant.”

Akira turned her gaze back to the road. Determined. She
didn’t like determined ghosts. She didn’t like angry ghosts, either. She sighed.
“I was supposed to be writing wedding invitations today.”

“Zane said he’d take care of them,” Rose said.

Akira didn’t roll her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner
of her mouth, as she tried to imagine Zane’s version of formal invitations. It
wouldn’t be careful calligraphy, that was for sure. If she had to guess, he was
picking up the phone and calling most of the people on their list. And then
he’d tell her it was all taken care of.

Monday, August 20, 2012

We were in the car on the way to school when Katy Perry's Teenage Dream played on the radio, right after Taylor Swift's We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together. I mentioned to Rory that the singers singing about infatuated romance two years ago have now moved on to bitter break-up songs and something about his expression -- first thoughtful, then mildly horrified -- made me laugh so hard I almost choked. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that. I'm sure whenever it was he was the one who made me do it and we were also in the car, because it felt like such a familiar experience, but wow, it felt rejuvenating. I think I've felt happier all morning long because of it.

I wrote yesterday for the first time in weeks. Literally, weeks. This morning, I expected--somewhat gloomily-- to hate everything I wrote last night, but in fact, I quite liked it. Whee. I haven't yet written any more today, but I'm trying to make a pact with myself that I'll write 1000 words a day of something. If not Time, then a short story or a letter or a blog post. Anything that lets me get back into the habit of fingers moving across the keyboard. This counts as a couple hundred words, but there will be more to come later.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Tip #1: To make money, write a lot and write for a long time. Don’t think of
writing as a quick path, but as a long-term trek. Every book you write is a
seed you’re planting. It may take a long time to reap the rewards, but you
could be harvesting that seed indefinitely.

Tip# 2: Spend what you’re comfortable spending. You can self-publish while
still treating your writing as a hobby.

A Gift of Thought is free today on Amazon (and for the next couple of days, too). That's because I'm at GeekGirlCon in Seattle. I'd create a link, but I'm on my iPad and typing is too hard, plus I haven't had any coffee yet, so the chance that the link would go sadly awry is high. But it's been fascinating. I've never been to a convention before, rather than a conference, and maybe this falls somewhere in between. But there are loads of people in costumes wandering around amidst discussions of misogyny and gender and online space and community. I've always thought web design conferences were an improvement over code conferences and this is definitely the step up from that. I'm a little nervous that my presentation is too practical, not philosophical, but c'est la vie, it's way too late to worry about that now. Pam says I need to go slower so people have time to write down the links, so I'm still trying to figure out how to do that. I might have to cut something. Anyway, time to find some caffeine -- but download Thought if you haven't and tell your friends, if they're the type to enjoy quirky ghost stories!

Sunday, August 5, 2012

I sort of anticipated that tomorrow would be bad, but today. . . today has been not good. Unexpectedly not good. After about my fourth cry, I finally went outside and swam despite the weather (what's a little rain when you're in a swimming pool, right? it's just the lightning you've got to watch out for) and finally managed to get away from my relentless brain. And then getting out of the pool, I thought, "damn, I'm just so sad, I really need to call Mom, she always..." and then there I was again.

There ought to be a word other than "anniversary." Anniversary sounds too positive, too festive. Anniversaries are for celebrations. But I can't figure out what the word would be.

The Spirits of Christmas

Available Now

The Spirits of Christmas

Akira's plans are simple: write wedding invitations, bake Christmas cookies, and eat red meat. (The last surprises her, too.) But when Rose, the ghost who haunts her house, asks for a favor, Akira can't say no. Little does she realize that although she's faced danger before, even death, a toddler who doesn't like peanut-butter-and-jelly might be her worst nightmare.

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About Me

Sarah Wynde, author of A Gift of Ghosts and A Gift of Thought, loves sky-diving, wind-surfing, tight-rope walking and Jack Russell terriers. Or she would, if she wasn't the imaginary construct of a slightly agoraphobic, high-anxiety, former editor, grad school dropout who does love Jack Russell terriers but would never dream of doing any of those other things.